Wales Invades New Plymouth

Saturday 24th September

Miraculously Amie slept through until 0445 when she wobbled her way through for an early morning chat - pretty one way at that time of the morning as you can imagine. She settled down to doze for a further two hours when the day began in earnest. She is a great character as this shot shows;-



Amie on the bounceline
Apparently the goggles were needed as it was a fantasy swimming pool

 God knows how we'll ever get the bounceline out of the garage and into the garden. John may have to reduce his erection (oooh-err missus!)

Head banger - almost literally

After some breakfast and a walk to get the paper, Amie and I gathered together the requisites for the traditional Saturday morning visit to Paraparaumu Beach and its ducks, market, playground and sausage sizzle. Amie loved feeding the ducks (not that there were many, the seagulls have been eating all the chicks so it seems, but we glossed over that) and spent ages on the swings and things. She had instant recall of the games we had played on our last visit in March which was pretty impressive, and put my failing memory on the spot. When we got back from the park, Daddy had arrived and Grandpa was partially relieved of responsibility. I felt really chuffed that I had been able to entertain her on my todd, and I gather from John that  my reward will be further baby-sitting sessions ( or is Amie really looking after me?) including attendance at her next ballet performance. The mind boggles.

We had some sandwiches for lunch and then John and I settled down to read the papers whilst Amie got some Disney time in on the telly. Magnaminous of us that, ceding the TV rights, but there was no footie on until early evening. The problem of what to cook for dinner was obviated by our deciding to nip down to The Waterfront for an early doors supper whilst watching England munch Romania. We used a GrabOne voucher (the Kiwi equivalent of Groupon) which gave us $50 of food and grog for $25 - an excellent money saving venture, especially so as they rounded our $58 bill down to $50 since they cocked up our food order a bit and kept us waiting. John and I didn't give a monkey's, we just ordered another jug of Sassy Red. Amie, bless her, played happily with the toys the bar provides for kids and was immaculately well-behaved. Back home at about 7 p.m. and Amie was tired out and went off to bed as good as gold.

After that it was the big one, crisps and beers were assembled and we joined the Kiwi nation to watch The All Blacks v France. The ABs were fantastic in the first half and looked every inch the favourites for the RWC. The Frogs were a bit light in manpower, but rallied a little in the second half to keep the score relatively respectable. Two happy bunnies hit the sack soon after the final whistle sounded.

Sunday 25th September.

After the traditional post-breakfast wander down to Lembas for some seriously good coffee, Grandpa donned his tourist hat and set off oop t'North for the next leg of his Cymru-athon. An easy drive in the morning sunshine brought him to Rangitikei Golf Club, a beautiful country course with excellent greens and fees payable via the honesty box. Rangitei proved more than a match for your author's measly golfing talents, so we'll draw a veil over that and move on quickly.

After a pie stop (a different brand to Mrs Mac's but an outstanding example of beef and mushroom crusty pastry goodness) I took a deviation from my planned route (wild, wild, I know but I can embrace spontaneity (if that's OK with you Our Mam?)) and went west of Mt. Taranaki / Egmont and followed the 'Surf Highway' along the coast to New Plymouth.

Surf beach sans surfers

Arriving in New Plymouth I stumbled upon our accommodation (amazingly the Kiwis can all spell acommodation (!) correctly which is a rarity in the UK) by accident rather than design, but given that the bustling port of NP is about the size of Braintree (of blessed memory), that was hardly surprising. The folks in The Flamingo were very welcoming, with a choice of slim or regular milk for the unit fridge (what the bloody hell did I care - it wasn't alcomilk was it!). The motel was classic Kiwi of the 1960s, but none the worse for that. Immaculately clean - the owner stooped to pick an errant piece of fluff off the lounge carpet with much tutting - I suspect the maid may have been shot in consequence - the unit had all one could wish for an overnight rugby stop viz. fridge, bottle opener and glasses. After settling in and getting the wi-fi running I set off to the waterside at Port Taranaki which was a short five minute drive away. I had the fish of the day (snapper) in a restaurant overlooking the sea called Bach and very good it was too. (note for non-kiwi speakers; Bach over here is pronounced batch being a rudimentary beachside dwelling and not to be confused with the Welsh Bach (baark = mate) or the hoity-toity Bach (bark) who was a deaf git what composed music, or even the Kensington "bahck later"  which means 'gone to winebar). A couple of beers with my meal and I was ready to slip into what was to prove a very comfortable bed and watch Scotland play like a bunch of clowns against an Argentinian side who were as one dimensional as a straight line.
The only disappointment of the day was that I had not seen Mt. Taranaki as it was shrouded in cloud ....... but I was not to be disappointed for long.

Monday 26th September - Match Day

After a really ace kip, I was up bright and early on a bright and beautiful day without a cloud in the sky.

I walked along the Coastal Walkway which extends for 12 km along the seafront and whilst searching for an early morning pie stop I looked up and there it was;-

Mount Taranaki

So wonderful. I'll let you have another look.

Quite pleased with that photo!
Note fir tree, Art Deco tower and large advert for AMI

How about having that as a backdrop to your life! Inspirational or what. I'm sure it's got loads of Maori folklore and spiritual significance, but to me it was just beautiful.

My next adventure was to bump into a film crew who interviewed me about RWC and that evening's game. I'm getting quite used to all this media exposure. They were a crew from ITV Wales doing a documentary for the Welsh Rugby Union. I doubt that a little fat bloke in a Wales jersey beaming his socks off whilst on his early morning pie patrol will make the silver screen, but who knows. Next up, who should I bump into but Shaun Edwards, the Welsh Defence Coach who was taking an early morning constitutional along the beach (or was he secretly looking for 22 beef, chilli and cheese pies for the lads?) He was nice and chatty and we spent a pleasant 5 minutes until he disappeared into the team hotel where our heroes were having a lie-in. Being New Zealand, there were no security goons around, and indeed there were Welsh fans staying in the same hotel.

Having devoured a pie (minced beef) and bought a toothbrush which were not untirely un-related exercises I wandered back to The Flamingo to read the paper in the sunshine of my unit's deck. On the way I passed The Wind Wand which is what passes for art in the Taranaki. It looks a bit like a pissed lollipop or a dick with the droop. Actually that's very unfair, it's a very clever piece of art/engineering designed by a chap called Len Lye as a 'tangible motion sculpture'. Poor old Len shuffled off this mortal coil before his creation was completed which was sad (there's a joke there about 'wouldn't let it lye' but I can't quite figure it out).

Photo taken later in the day (hence clouds) by John
He calls this the 'Red Wobbler' which I suspect is taking the piss

After a session with the paper it was off to the Airport (about 10 minutes out of town) to pick up John who was arriving from Wellington. Pick up was easy, and we were back at the motel by 1230. John dumped his stuff and we set off up the road to a local sports bar for lunch. As we walked along in our Welsh shirts we received numerous beeps and waves from passing traffic who (presumably) were happy to see us in their city. Waving back continuously was quite tiring; I don't think I'll become a queen (thank God for that - Ed.).
A very good lunch and a few jars later we headed back to The Flamingo to collect our tickets and headed off into town. There was a very interesting exhibition about Taranaki rugby in the Information Centre and we enjoyed looking at the memorabilia. With the sun beating down, we decided that an intake of liquid was required and repaired to a local tavern which also happened to be a TAB (State run betting shop). John decided to go for a punt and put $20 on Namibia scoring only one try at odds of about 3.5 to 1. As we walked through the streets of NP, now filling up with red shirts, we were treated to the sight and sound of a local Maori boy racer cruising the city in a souped-up jalopy with the windows down playing the Welsh National Anthem at full blast! Bizarre indeed, but much appreciated. We sat on the pavement in the beating sun outside a bar which greeted Welsh fans with the board shown below;-

Old Fart with welcome board

It was interesting to see their selection of Welsh celebrities. Working up from the bottom we have Tom Jones saying "crouch, touch, pause engage" which may well have been a catchphrase of his during the knicker-throwing years, Burly Chassis saying "good luck", Catherine Zeta Jones saying "Go the boys" and last, and by no means least Harry Secombe (for it is he) bidding us welcome. A great effort by the bar owners, but it's a little worrying that their top celeb is a man who has been dead these many long years. Perhaps he also still exists on the South Island? Come to think of it, his great baritone voice would serve well with Elvis and JC.

We set off then for the fanzone but,seeing a large conglomeration of red shirts, ended up at a Celtic Bar (an Irish Bar hedging its bets)  called Piggy Malone's. Great banter there, much singing and general craic. John met up with a chap who used to be the barrista at his local coffee shop, there with some Welsh guys and much bullshit was exchanged. At one point a young chap got up on a table and gave a superb rendition of "The Sloop John B", a song much loved by touring teams in the past. He had invented loads of topical verses (which actually rhymed and scanned) and the chorus ended with the words "with Sam the captain, we'll take the cup home "(bedooaa, bedooaa, etc.). Absolute mint, must find it on Youtube. After that it was time to wend our way to the stadium.

Father wending - Shorry Offisher!

Thoughtfully the local authority had laid a blue line from the boozer to the ground and here Ballingall Pere makes his unsteady way. Bloody difficult to keep upright when three sheets to the wind and balancing a portion of potato wedges and soured cream in the left hand! On the way we met some Frog fans from La Rochelle and they complimented me on my French which made me think of Mary. Excellent seats as always at the stadium. I'll not say much about the game, except that Wales annihilated poor old Namibia to the tune of a dozen tries (I think), despite going off the boil for the second quarter.

Four random Bobfacts;-

1. It was great when it was announced that "Namibia have won the toss, and elected to play towards the mountain" Mount Taranaki was clearly visible in the moonlight through one set of posts - an iconic image.
2. Good to see some proper terracing and fans leaning on the crush barriers. No all-seater nonsense in the 'Naki .
3. We sat next to a Taranaki dairy farmer who was good value. When a group of Welsh lads passed by dressed up as cows I remarked that "the cows are in" to which he replied "yes, Fresians". Now I'm not trying to imply that Taranaki Man is a bit fixated ..............
4. Had whitebait fritter (+ chips) as a snack halfway through the second half. Can't think there's a ground anywhere else in the world that would serve that as a snack.

Back on a bus (free, but a gold koha for God knows what) to Piggy Malone's, a few celebratory beers and much singing and then we walked back to the motel. On the way out of the pub John met a bloke who he'd played rugby with in Feilding when he first came to NZ. Small country eh - can't believe I haven't met someone I know yet!

A cracking evening followed by blissful sleep.

Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay

Friday 23rd September

 

Picking Amie up from Pre-School this evening, so decided to have a day in the capital. The drive down SH1 was a pleasure in itself in the bright Spring sunshine. I stopped off in Mana to have a look at the Pauatahanui Inlet which I've always considered something special. No Bros jumping off the bridge unfortunately - the natives must be going soft. Down the Gorge and into Wellington - that must be the prettiest entry to a capital city in the world. Parked up in our usual spot just past Te Papa. It was one of those rarities in Welly, a day with no wind. The harbour was as flat as a pancake and a delight to walk along. My first port of call was to Te Papa for a cup of coffee and a complimentary copy of the Dominion Post (saving $1.60 - every little bit helps). Then it was on to the New Zealand Academy of Fine Arts to have a look at their exhibition 'A Game of Two Halves; The Art of the Cliche'. This proved most interesting; there were some excellent bronzes of rugby scenes by Brett McKay and some interesting portraits of noted rugby players in toast. Yes folks, toast!





 

Maurice Bennett - The Toastman (for it is he!)

I liked the Richie McCaw, but felt the Gareth Edwards was not the greatest likeness, but who am I to comment as an afficionado of art made from bread-based breakfast products?

Another exhibit that caught the eye and carried on the theme of blasphemy that seems to infest RWC was a painting of a Gilbert RWC 2011 rugby ball on the cross! Unfortunately dear reader, I can't find a picture of this on the Internettywebbything, but the painting was entitled 'It's all a matter of faith' and was painted by someone called Barb Battensby. Now the artist may have been trying to show a sense of irony about the Kiwi obsession with rugby, but basically it was so politically incorrect and in such poor taste that I would happily have it hanging in my lounge.

But for me the piece de resistance of the exhibition was nothing to do with rugby. It was a mixed media piece entitled 'Munted' by Bryan Clarke and was a haunting depiction of the destruction caused by this year's earthquake in Christchurch. I do so wish I could show you a photograph, but I didn't have my camera with me. Let me explain that 'munted' is a word used over here to mean pissed or wrecked, but in the context of the Christchurch quake it was used as a polite way of saying 'completely f***ed'. The Mayor of ChCh Bob Parker had to explain the word to Prince William when he visited the devastation.

The work was a framed picture of a house that had been partially demolished by an earthquake, the twist being that it hung as if it itself had suffered earthquake damage, glass smashed and shards falling to the ground, the frame in pieces. The discontinuity in time represented in the piece was intriguing and it was a poignant reminder of thehurt which hit The Garden City last time we were in New Zealand.

Feeling rather moved, I nipped off up Cuba Street to our favourite Malaysian restaurant for lunch; Beef Rendang which was great tucker, and at $10 a great bargain. After lunch I returned to the waterfront for a walk in the sun and ended up in the Museum of Wellington City & Sea. This is one of my favourite museums at any time, but for RWC it had an exhibition of photographs by Peter Bush called Hard on the Heels. The exhibition features over 100 images of great All Black moments, games and players over a 60-year period.

The amazingly hard Sid Going emerges from the mist

NZ vs East Glamorgan, Wales 1972/7

From there it was off to the Fan Zone via the Civic Square where they had an astroturf  mini rugby pitch laid out, complete with posts for local primary schools to play tag rugby. Radio station More FM had laid on a free sausage sizzle and well, it would have been rude not too!

After this it was back to the car via the Black Boots Legends Gallery on the waterfront. Let me quote from their website;-

The Black Boot Legends Gallery will display a selection of New Zealand rugby images from the non-professional, pre-1995 era when our rugby men only wore black boots.

Many of these iconic images will be on public display for the first time.

The Black Boot Legends Gallery is a collection of rugby legends who have paved New Zealand's international rugby reputation.

This free exhibition, located outdoors on Wellington's beautiful waterfront area provides an opportunity for international visitors and Kiwis alike to admire the grassroots culture of New Zealand rugby through a selection of images chosen from renowned New Zealand rugby photographers.

What it doesn't say is that the  huge photos were set into the deck of the quay over a length of a few hundred metres.

One shot is shown here;-

The picture shows Ian Kirkpatrick leading out the ABs v Ulster in their tour in 1972. The ABs look serious, and well they might be for this was at the height of the 'troubles' in Northern Island. What is not shown here, but was shown in the exhibition, was that to the left of the players were British troops with loaded rifles to defend the ABs should there be an attack. Luckily the threat did not materialise and the ABs received a standing ovation after their win. A moment of rugby sanity in very troubled times.

Anyway, after immersing myself in rugby nostalgia, it was back to reality and picking up Amie from Pre-School. She was as high as a kite when I arrived (that boded well - NOT!) and it took some time to get her dressed ready for the trip back to the beachhouse during which she made a serious attempt on the New Zealand All Comers' Record for non-stop chattering (under 5 division). She was cracking company for the evening, totally refused the proposed tea - "We always have fish and chips from the shop on Fridays" so being a pragmatist rather than a good Grandpa I gave in and hied off to Big Gav's. An unfortunate lack of communication between the Gavmeister and myself resulted in Amie getting a brown sausage, rather than a pink thing on a stick which goes by the name of Frankfurter. I thus had to eat that but Amie whacked into the frites like there was no tomorrow, insisting that we ate on the floor in front of the telly, and straight out of the paper. I must have a word with John about his parenting skills but must admit that it was lovely.

Amie seemed to run out of steam a bit at that stage (thank heavens) and went off to kip at about 8 p.m. without too much resistance. I tidied up, watched Australia v USA on the box and retired early to my pit, a very happy Grandpa.

Of Golf and Garden Centres

Thursday 22nd September

Thursday was another nice day on the Kapiti Coast. I was out on the course soon after 0730 and (if I say so myself) had a cracking front nine, playing to my handicap and chalking up 3 pars. Naturally the course got its own back on the back nine, but all in all I was pleased. Back home for a belated breakfast and then, horror of horrors, I WENT TO A GARDEN CENTRE! No coercion was involved and I went of my own free will. Having cleared the vege patch, I thought I ought to find out what plants I should put out there to die. The bloke at Palmers obviously summed me up as a twat straight away (I have no problem with that, it's the people who assume that I have some intelligence who cause all the problems). The great news was that there's no need to do anything until the second week in October apart from getting some seed spuds laid out in the garage to sprout. Music to my ears! I took copious notes on the veges and herbs available and will send these back to 'er indoors for her consideration.

I had a letter published in the Kapiti Observer today. Not a great feat in itself, since few people around here can write and most of the letters are made up by the paper's staff. I reproduce my missive below;-

Dear Sir,

As a regular visitor to Kapiti from the UK, currently over here to follow Wales in the RWC, I was amazed and disappointed at how little effort KCDC has made to attract overseas visitors into the area. Where are the large signs on SH1 inviting fans to pull over and sample Kapiti's delights? Where are the flags of the competing nations welcoming overseas supporters? There are thousands of RWC fans passing up and down SH1 everyday, and they won't call in to Coastlands to spend their dollars unless prompted.

On the way up to Hamilton for last weekend's epic Welsh win over Manu Samoa, most of the towns were be-decked with flags and shops were decorated to support the various teams. Even Taihape, who's only dubious claim to fame is to be the 'Gumboot Capital of the World' has put out a greater welcome than Paraparaumu. Coastlands has a few All Black flags in The Mall, and that's it! Pathetic.

It's not too late to get your backsides in gear with a month remaining of the RWC - or don't you care?

Yours sincerely,

Bob Ballingall

That might stir up some comment.

A beautiful Spring day at Otihanga

 Wednesday 21st September

A cracking day weatherwise. Thought about doing some chores for a microsecond, but naaah, decided to go for a walk from Otihanga domain to Waikanae beach.

Just some photos



Kapiti Island from Waikanae Beach



Saw the above and panicked! What a crap Christmas (but a great piss-up on my birthday). Kapiti Coast Council assured me that it only applied to the beach thank God.

Some big white birds on the nest (and why not?)



Lagoon with artistic jetty and bewildered duck



There were lots of fishermen out in the Waikanae River estuary with frame nets. They were waiting for the tide to turn and for the whitebait to come upstream. Whitebait over here are not the same as at home - sort of frogspawn with balls on. Bloody expensive in the shops (hence fishermen) but bloody good in fritters.

This afternoon I had a rush of blood to the head and cleared the weeds from the vege (?) patch and dug it over in preparation for living off the land.

Before



After



Things that tickled my fancy

1. A billboard outside a church in central Wellington (and just around the corner from the Sprinboks' hotel) proclaims 'Jesus loves the All Blacks'. I thought He loved all of us poor souls, but this is further evidence of my theory that He didn't die (just like Elvis) but moved to the South Island (just like Elvis) and now plays gigs around the Invercargill as part of trio consisting of Himself, The King and ............? All suggestions greatfully received. Aaron and I thought at one stage it might be Adolf, but he was crap on the drums. By the way, if you think I'm making this up, look here.
2. A brilliant safety jingle from the New Zealand Fire Brigade aimed at preventing pissed RWC visitors setting fire to themselves (and Aotearoa). Sung to the tune of the South African National Anthem Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika, it features the memorable lyrics "Don't drink and fry / go and purchase a pie". Go on sing it - you know you're longing to!
3. If you thought 1 (above) was sacriligeous, how about today's Dominion Post headline that "Jesus is an All Black". Christ (oops!) the Kiwis are pulling out all the stops in their quest for World Rugby Domination. The theory is that of Dean Frank Nelson, a raving lunatic cleric from the Wellington Cathedral of St. Paul where a painting of JC in an All Black jersey is now on display. I don't know if they still burn people at the stake (steak - see 2 above) in New Zealand, but heresy trials can't be too far away.



The Lunacy of Religion





Hamilton Rocks

Tuesday 20th September

Back safely in Raumati-by-the-Sea after the trip to Hamilton for the Wales v. Samoa game. What a match that was! Hamilton hosted the match brilliantly (suck that Jaffas) and a wonderful alcoholic time was had by all.

I set off on Friday morning in the faithful silver Toyota and headed north. First stop for coffee was the vibrant metropolis of Taihape, the self-styled Gumboot Capital of the World. I kid you not readers - here is the proof;-



Taihape taking itself very seriously



Taihape was en fete (or the Maori equivalent thereof), much bunting and generally well up for the RWC. Different shops in the town, using the word loosely, were decorated with the favours of different sides, so naturally I had to take a shot of the Welsh emporium.



Home from home 

It was a great temptation to scrap the road trip at this juncture as the solid citizens of Taihape were holding their Gumboot Jam festivities over the weekend, and I really fancied my chances in the Welly Throwing. However common sense prevailed and on I went north.

I arrived in Turangi at lunchtime, the intention being to play a round of flog on the local course. This however being NZ in the spring and Turangi being high on the Central Plateau and near the ski-fields, the weather took a turn for the worse and the lady in the Pro-shop advised against playing in case I died of exposure. Plan B involved checking into my motel, Creel Lodge, which was superb and great value at $110 for the night. I would really recommend it to anyone passing up towards Taupo. The grounds were beautiful with spring blossom, and the property had direct access onto the Turangi river which is a top venue for trout fishing. And yes, Turangi is The Trout Fishing Capital of the World, although one or two places in Scotland might dispute that.

Interlude of semi-arty shots of Creel Lodge;-




One's unit











Tree type thingy (+ faithful steed)







Another tree - you get the picture?

Golf being off limits I then drove 5 km up the road to The Tokaanu Hot Springs where I had a private pool (all on my own unfortunately) for the princely sum of $10. Although private, the pool was open to the elements above and at one stage it became quite painful as I sat, bollock naked, in the steaming bath with hailstones bouncing off my bald head, but hey, we Welsh boys can take it, oh yes.

There was a (free) walk through a thermally active swamp outside the pools. This was fascinating; not as pongy as Rotorua, but well worth a deco. I spotted this mud spout dooh-dah (or is it a clip of a Welsh three-quarter's rear end as he anticipates tackling Tuilanga The Elder?

 

Back then to Creel Lodge, but thought I aught to include this photograph of the traffic chaos which is downtown Turangi.

Note snow on the mountains!

A chat with the Lodge people soon identified Valentino's Italian restaurant as THE place to eat. I had visions of that place in Barry Island ("soup of the day is ALWAYS minestrone, love"!) , but first off came a walk beside the river and the obligatory bounce on a swing bridge (or is it chain bridge?). This one, amazingly, was not The Longest Chain Bridge in New Zealand - that's in Nelson, they have to spread these accolades around you see.



That Chain Bridge in full



More blooming blossom



Dinner at Valentino's was excellent. I had the Surf n' Turf, brilliant rare steak plus prawns, scallops and other fishy goodness, all in a marsala sauce (whatever that is). My accompaniment was a half litre flask of the house red, but I would have preferred Our Mam. I felt lonely for the first time on my trip................

This soft old bugger then went to bed.

Saturday 17th September

Up to a bright but drizzly morning. Dominion Post delivered to the door so salivated over the rugby news before packing up and heading out for breakfast near Lake Taupo. The clientele was a mixture of Micks, Saffers and Welsh (me, boyo) all on their ways to different RWC venues, so the banter was good. The Saffer next to me got his Eggs Benedict with "Go SA" written in Hollandaise on the plate edge, courtesy of the waitress (who was wearing a Samoan shirt). Rugby ...............lovely! Pootled my way north along the western side of the lake stopping at a Farmers' Market in Tokoroa for a sausage sizzle and a chat with John on the old cell phone. I'm beginning to get the hang of these things now, but doubt they'll ever take over from the pigeon post. (Pigeons don't need recharging, and have you ever tried to eat a mobile phone?). I intended to have a look around Cambridge en route, but the sun came out, I was passing Cambridge Golf Club, and it would have been rude not to have had a round. Enjoyed myself, and only lost one pill. The sign outside the course said "created 35,000,000 years ago by the Waikato River" which was nice.

After not setting the world of golf alight, a half hour hop took me to Aaron and Julie's in Hamilton where I was greeted most royally. Aaron cooked salmon steaks with a crusty topping (herbs and that) and veges. (Still can't believe that's the way to spell veggies, but since when have Kiwis taken any notice of the OED?). A talented man that Aaron, not only does he cook, but he also distills his own whisky, with the aid of which the evening drifted towards a close. BUT WAIT, drama on the Corolla front - it seems I picked up a hitch hiker;-

At least the bird wasn't legless

Shades of Richard and the pheasant, but luckily no damage done.

 Sunday 18th September

Match Day! After a great BBB (Big Boys' Breakfast) - OK, I lied, the sausages struggled to be average, even by New Zealand standards,- we picked up Julie's daughter Georgia from her Dad's house and headed into town to the "Unofficial Welsh Embassy" which was a very good real ale (OK I'm a habitual liar today) bar within the Fanzone. The place was already packed with Welsh fans, some Samoans and a smattering of other nationalities who presumably were lost. Entertainment was provided by a zumba band and dancers. It seems that Zumba combines Latin and International music with a fun and effective workout system and is thus not to be confused with I-Zigger-Zumbar of blessed memory which consisted of drunken rugby players standing on tables within licensed premises and removing all their clothes. It sounds cheesy, but it worked. The streets were soon full of fans copying the motions of the peeps on stage with success inversely proportional to the booze already consumed. They should try this at soccer matches in the UK, or in the inner cities to encourage the great unwashed to seek rhythm rather than mayhem. Luckily there was a sizzle selling Wild Boar burgers so the sausage debacle of the early morning was rectified. About an hour before the game, Julie and Georgia left us and we weaved over to the stadium via a Speight's Ale House that Aaron's local knowledge enabled us to locate despite the best efforts of the stewards (civilian volunteers) to send us in the opposite direction.

The match was incredible! Yet again we had super seats on the 22m line. Thankfully we were near an exit so could get out easily for the inevitable pee breaks, beer locating expeditions and french fries importing missions. The noise in the stadium was terrific, cries of "Wales, Wales" alternating with shouts of "Manu, Manu" from the Islanders' supporters. The match was as hard as nails, one highlight being Jamie Roberts smashing the Samoan hardman Seilala Mapusua flat on his arse. The stadium shuddered, as did my bladder. Another good memory was someone trying to blow a bugle (officially banned) wherupon the Samoan in front of me jumped up and shouted out "Jesus mate! My chainsaw makes more noise than that!" I believe this is a bon mot much beloved by our Island chums. Wales managed to marshal themselves well in the second half and finished strongly for a win without which they would have more or less booked a passage home.

After the match we repaired to the UWE to join a mob of greatly relieved Taffs. Highlight of our post-match libations was some ale called "Knob Polisher" (I may have got that wrong) which weighed in at 10.8% alcohol, so was equivalent to drinking deep ruby red wine by the pint! Luckily Julie and Georgia came down to pick us up and it only took us three or four attempts to climb up into Aaron's ute (translation for non-Kiwis: ute = utility vehicle, a bloody monster of a truck that has a double cab and can house anything on the back from a garden shed to a flock of sheep). With patriotic fervour Julie had cooked roast lamb for supper which was absolutely fabulous and with that and some more of Aaron's moonshine (I vaguely remember something banana-ish with a kick like a mule) a happy slumber came upon your author.

Monday 19th September

Go South Young Man (Young Man? - who are you kidding? -Ed.)

We were all pretty slow at getting up on Monday morning (no surprise there then). As A,J and G disappeared off to work and school I headed off to Hamilton Golf Club to work the alcohol out of my system. I in fact played really well on the front 9, only reverting to my normal crap form as the booze wore off. The course was absolutely magnificient, tree-lined and with very fast and true greens. As usual I spent a lot of my time hacking out of the woods but had some good luck when my ball tried to demolish a grapefruit tree. The resulting avalanche of fruit disappeared into my bag and provided a good breakfast for the next day! Strong coffee and a bacon, tomato and avocado burger provided sustenance for the six hour, 500 km drive home which was absolutely beautiful, passing through the King Country and the Tongariro National Park. Empty roads and wonderful scenery made this a great journey, only the last two hours from Wanganui (where I had an ace Steak and Mushroom pie) were a pain as the rain hosed it down and driving was a bit tricky. I passed through Te Kuiti which is the home of the legendary Colin Meads. His face adorns all the billboards around there. Sir Colin is a living legend (great All Black captain, a man so big he was reputed to do training runs with a lamb under each arm), probably the greatest living New Zealander now that Sir Ed Hillary has popped his crampons.I suspect that Te Kuiti is the Colin Meads Centre of the Universe. Home at 2015 and soon to bed, tired but exhilarated.

Piccies for today;-

Fresh flowers in motel room -there's lovely



Hammill's Killer is a trout fly, not the local mass-murderer (his name is Dwayne) and each unit at Creel Lodge is named after a different fly - and you thought it was only rugby fanatics in New Zealand.



Barbecue facilities - not at all shabby



Tuesday 20th September

A southerly wind today, bracing to say the least. (Think about it Poms! First stup from Antarctica is NZ, and the southerlies here can freeze the testicles off a mammoth, let alone a brass monkey).
A day for domestic goddess-ing. Did the washing whilst making breakfast. I reckon that counts as multi-tasking, but the toast was as soggy as hell when I got it out of the machine and the toaster singed my socks. When using the washing machine I emptied the filter which was a new experience for the device. Amazingly I didn't find any sweetcorn in the trap - John will claim that he keeps some amazing things in his underpants, but not exotic vegetables.Talking of socks, first major wardrobe malfunction as the spare pair I took to Hamilton (having transported them half way around the world) had a massive spud in the heel. They got binned at A & J's who were kind enough not to mention the aroma that must have arisen from the days-old ones I had to keep on wearing. Managed to get replacements from The Warehouse who had sets of 5, normal price $10 on BOGOF at two sets for $8! Crazy shop, crazy pricing. In addition to the sock fiasco, my rip-off trousers have lived up to their name and now have a large gaping hole in the nether regions. This means my paaaaaants are on display to all and sundry which is OK Monday to Wednesday when they're fresh, a bit embarassing on Thursday to Saturday when they're inside out, and a complete disaster on 'No undies Sundays'. Mary usually uses pink cotton for her invisible mending, so must look it out. Luckily no photographs are available here (have you ever tried photographing your own arse? - no, I don't want to know!)

Chicken and cous-cous one-pot for supper tonight. Now I realise that cous-cous is a bit radical for me (some would even say perverse) but in a country which prides itself on it's multi-culturalism and it's acceptance of minorities (even the Welsh), I am trying to embrace my vegetable side. I suspect that this may be a step too far on the culinary front, but if (when?) it all goes tits up, at least the Dairy stays open late so pie supplies should still be obtainable.

Off for a walk on the beach now . Byeeeee.....



Bumps in the night, ironing and All Blacks




A bit too busy at the moment to write a lot. I'll fill in some text later on. In the mean time, here are some pictures of the Beach House;-

Our bedroom, looking out onto the new deck

Have you ever seen such a tidy bedroom?

No brickwork now, and dying to be painted

The Sun shines on my dick!

And now some shots from outside;-



And finally, some All Blacks!

Left to right: Murray Pierce, Lady who gave me free lunch, Christian Cullen (The Paekakariki Express) and Paul Steinmetz - Kapiti's best

Right then, off towards Hamilton tomorrow - the blog goes mobile! Watch this space.

Four Seasons in One Day

Tuesday 13th September

An interesting day on the Kapiti Coast. 'Four Seasons in One Day' seems an adequate description. That sounds like a great song title - wonder if anyone has thought of that before? Awoke to a brightish morning and did my usual womble to the shop to collect the Dommy P. Barnes Bashing is rife in the paper, which is a bit over the top, but as has been said, Kiwis have long memories. Went into the library and then to P 'n S to do the shopping and after that dealt with emails to all my chums back home to let them know that I'm disappointed but not downhearted after Sunday's result. Did some chores around the house and then went down to the seafront by the Hammer House of Horrors on Jeep Road where the views to the Island were stunning. Quite a heavy sea, the tide seems to be in perpetually, I haven't been able to walk on the beach yet. There were surfers of the beach at the end of the road which is a first in my book.

Decided to extend the content of the blog with this;-

I then found John's Father's Day present from Amie in the back of the Corolla. All in the best possible taste, allegedly. His name is Richie and he has taken residence on the dick as this clip shows;-

Soon after the gnome took up residence, the skies darkened over, we had thunder and lightning followed by a hailstorm. It was fairly impressive, but nothing as bad as they had in Wellington where traffic was disrupted and Oriental Parade looked like a winter wonderland.

Here's a snap of the beachhouse garden as you've never seen it before.

Hail on the deck

Poor old Richie did not look a happy gnome, I nearly brought him in to shelter in the lounge, poor little bugger.

Richie with cold ball(s)

 After that I had a nice long phone call with Mary and then stuck my supper in the oven. Hoki fillet with assorted trimmings, and delicious it was too!

Capers and parsley - Christ there's posh

A final thrash with the Times crossword, completed this blog and then off to bed.

Goodnight reader(s)



The Tournament Commences

0630 on a bright Saturday morning and the day begins.

What an evening that was! John and Amie arrived soon after six and my first thought was to get some grub down them before the festivities really got underway. Oh the trials, tribulations and frustrations of being 'mother'! John had been to a business lunch at the Bulcott Street Bistro with his boss JP and some other colleagues (the top brass) and so wasn't hungry at all, and Amie wasn't overkeen on the proposed menu (probably no great surprise). So time for a quick rethink by the chef. John was happy to persue a liquid diet (although he did have a chip butty later in the evening - real gourmet stuff) and Amie opted for scrambled egg on toast which I just about managed. Undeterred I carried on with the omelette which was reasonable (5/10) although the cheapo frying pan I used was pretty disastrous as it isn't flat on the bottom (are any of us dearie?) and so the omelette singed (sang?) a bit in the middle whilst the edges were a bit uber-baveuse. (Sorry no umlaut, but a brilliant euromot what!). There is a weekend sale on at Briscoes so I think I'll look for some better ones.

Amie and John disappeared off at 0745 after their breakfast so that Amie could go to ballet. She insists that it's ballet with a rising last syllable rather than Grandpa's rather more prosaic ballay. After that she was off to a birthday party with her mate Sun Sun (so good they named her tlice) at Jungleland which is a padded cell for lunatic pre-schoolers or a 'soft play centre' to satisfy the Social Services.

I girded my lions and nipped into the market. Enjoyed looking around but didn't buy much other than a couple of pears and the inevitable burger with home-made relish. All is much as usual at the market, although the garage sale types seem to be holding off until the summer weather arrives. After that I nipped into The Warehouse (after visiting half a dozen other outlets for comparison) and bought a new cell phone since the old one is a) hiding, and b) knackered battery-wise. I also got some decent cast iron frying pans in Briscoes, $80 reduced to $25 which was great value. I quite enjoyed a bit of peace and quiet in the afternoon and generally blobbed whilst watching the footie on the box. Four matches in a row today; I need to pace myself so it's a strict 'no booze before 5 o'clock' regime. J & A arrived just after I'd cracked open my first Export Gold. Amie was a bit knackered after her party, but remained in good spirits as long as she was fed with chippies and Anzac biscuits. In the interval between the early evening and night games we managed to have some supper. They had pasta and I had cold chicken and salad. The chicken was good and I made a valiant effort at the salad which was trendy leaves and shite (John had got it in) and basically tasted like grazing the lawn. Amie went off to bed like a good un and J and I settled down to Watch England play Argentina. The jet lag kicked in during the second half, or it may have been the sheer tedium of watching Ingerland who were dire, so at the final whistle John woke me up and I shuffled off to bed, feeling rather excited about the following day.

The Match Day started at 0630 with Amie coming through to wake me. After general ablutions we went off for a walk and coffee.

Proud Grandpa and Amie

The banter which was to be a feature of the day started when we met a bunch of Saffers and their families on The Esplanade walk way. 'Go Boks' and 'Enjoy your journey home' rang out and we knew we were in for a belter of a day. After coffee in Lembas (brilliant) we adjourned to the beachhouse for a big boys' breakfast of bacon, baked beans, mushrooms, hash browns and iggs working on the basis that lining the stomach might be advisable for the day ahead. At 1100 we were off to the capital in John's car. We parked on Oriental Parade and as we got out of the car in our matching Welsh shirts we were given a hearty beep by the driver of the Welsh team coach that happened to be passing at the time.

Welsh Coach (or Warren Gatland as he is known)

I realise that the above may qualify in the top ten of sad photographs ever taken, but it seemed appropriate at the time. On then to Te Papa which was hosting a Welsh Day put on by the Welly Welsh Society and was marvellous.

Te Papa goes red for the day

Amie had a dragon painted on her cheek and coloured in a dragon which was made into a badge for her and we all waved our Welsh flags with pride.There were loads of Welsh fans and families there and it was a smashing start to a long day. We ended up by going to a Kapa Haka show which was fascinating, I even got to learn how to do the All Blacks' Haka which was great fun. Mel picked up Amie from the foyer at about 1400 and John and I exited stage left to Mac's Brewery for a couple of pints of Sassy Red to start the day's imbibing. Showing a marked degree of restraint, we then went back to John's apartment to watch the afternoon match. Tragedy nearly struck when J discovered that he didn't have any beer in (poor demented boy) but a trip to the dairy soon sorted that out. At about 1630 we felt fortified for the fray and got a taxi into town. First stop was a kebab house (we never did work out which country the owners were from, but it was called The Sahara and camels featured strongly in the decor, and possibly on the menu). With food-based ballast on board we then went off to the Fanzone which was getting very lively but as it was starting to rain we decided on Health and Safety grounds to seek cover in licensed premises and adjourned to Mac's once more. Here John's local knowledge came in handy as he was able to plot a route to the stadium which a) kept us under cover mostly, and b) necessitated a large number of bar visits. At one stage we were dancing towards The Cake Tin behind a South African mariachi band in full action which seemed rather bizarre. We arrived at the Stadium about 3/4 hour before kick off and the organisation and welcome was superb (well done Wellington, a bloody sight better than the cock-up that the Jaffas produced on the opening night!). Our seats were superb (though they should have been at $350 a pop!), first row of the undercover seats and level with the 10 metre line. We were just behind the area where disabled spectators were accommodated, and I feel duty bound to say that John's shouts of 'Stand up if you hate the Boks, stand up' could possibly have been taken as a tad politically incorrect!

I won't go  on about the match, as that is recorded in other parts of the media (pretentious, moi?) but it was superb, the best of the tournament so far. Wales could, and perhaps should, have won even without the Barnes' Bog Up but they played really well against the reigning World Champions and must surely get to the Quarter Finals (I typed that with my fingers crossed, which takes some doing I assure you). We kept ourselves going with copious cans of Heineken and a fish and chip supper which at $7.50 was good value, being the same price as a can of the Dutch piss. At the final whistle we couldn't believe that the evening was over. The thronged supporters shuffled from the stadium amidst yet more banter and, again showing great maturity, I headed straight for the train to Ppm. I walked home from the station in a vain attempt to clear my head and created a new world record for the 'open door, urinate, drop kecks, dive into bed' event which Usain Bolt will never approach.

A wonderful, wonderful day. Shame about the result, but thanks so much to John for organising it and to Mary for being so wonderfully understanding in letting an old man fulfil his fantasy! (Well, one of them, but this is a family blog.)

The Day after the Night Before

Monday passed quietly. It had to.........

I did some general house-keeping chores in the morning and after lunch nipped up to the golf club to pay my dues. They were very welcoming as usual, and I had a good chat about the match with the woman who runs the Pro-shop who had also been there. The evening consisted of supper, the remains of the chicken with mashed potatoes, and then I happened to hear a talk-in on the radio and so decided to put my six pennorth in. The Ballingall words of wisdom can be found about 15 minutes into here and it was good fun pontificating, even if it was probably bullshit. I seem to have used the word 'bloody' on air, which was bloody inexcusable!

So to bed, accompanied by my new hot water bottle which for the duration must take the role of Mary's bum, although it does appear to be deficient to the count of one in the cheeks department.